Mamma ripped the envelope nearly to shreds and managed to steady her grasp long enough to read the note aloud.

My dearest sister,
I have missed you so. I will be arriving 1:00 P.M. by railway car on the twelfth of this month. Would you please meet me? Until then, Love Becky

Mamma twirled me around in a dizzy dance. "Aunt Rebecca is coming," she sang, skipping and hopping around the kitchen—all at once she came to an abrupt stop.

"Today is the eighth. What will Aunt Rebecca suppose of our meager existence? If she had just given me more time to prepare," Mamma complained, lines creasing her forehead.

Mamma could have had all the time in the world. It wouldn't have changed things one bit. She scrubbed everything until all shined like a bright new pin—washed, starched and ironed every crease from the faded curtains and set up a cot in my bedchamber where Aunt Rebecca would lie.
                                                          
We hurried along the snow-laden path, leapt unto the step of a horse-drawn red street-car, and continued on to the railway station. Papa remained at home with my two younger brothers: Charles age two, and Edward, who just turned four.

Upon approaching the platform, the clear shrill of whistles sliced the atmosphere. Bells clanged, heralding the train's arrival. Impact of metal against metal sent shivers up and down my spine. Clasping my ears, and pressing my forefingers against my sensitive eardrums, I searched relief from the painful sensation. Smoke puffs hurled heavenward with grunts like an irate dragon, the earth quaking beneath my feet.

We squeezed into an empty seat once a heavy-set woman stood to leave. Mr. Thatch, the ticket agent, seemed a bit flustered. The station boisterous, the line-up long and the crowd clamorous. He peered over his round spectacles, his eyes nearly protruding out of their sockets.

"Destination, please," he repeated like a wind-up toy. A ticket he automatically issued in exchange for money.

"Lucy! We must go now, dear." Mamma snatched my hand. Looking down, a piece of thread on her black wool coat caught her eye. She picked it, rolled it into a minuscule ball, and dropped it into a bin.

"We mustn't keep Aunt Rebecca waiting." I glanced at the monumental clock near the ceiling of the back wall as a thunderous bong struck. Huge letters stuck to its face and long black hands pointed to the letters.

"What kind of clock is that, Mamma?" Her answer faded in the clatter of it all.

It seemed impossible to near the train's passenger door for the crowd assembled for its arrival. Mamma swayed and plodded through the crowd, tugging my arm as though I were some inanimate object. It brought to mind how I handled Molly, my ragged doll.

"Pardon me," she said, nearly knocking down a woman twice her size and with suitcase in hand. Her excitement escalated as we approached the number seven coach where Aunt Rebecca would disembark.

The conductor lowered a step for the trail of passengers to descend. Finally, Aunt Rebecca appeared.

"My! How Becky has changed," Mamma said. Aunt Rebecca's hair was swept-up in curls and pinned to keep its shape—a hat with a plume feather nested in her hairdo.

The conductor wore a grin stretching from ear to ear. A pair of specks found a niche on his pudgy, nose. He reached his hand toward her.

"Now, watch your step, me dear." His white gloved hand cautioned her along her way. Mamma and I were ecstatic. Arms flung in all directions, until they were wrapped tightly about Aunt Rebecca. She must have felt as though she was being embraced by an octopus—one unwilling to set her free. Her hat nearly toppled off in all the commotion, her hand reaching up to prevent the occurrence.

"Becky, oh Becky! How wonderful it is to see you again. It's been such a long time."

"I'm so happy to see you, Anna, and this must be Lucy," Then the wailing began. Aunt Rebecca's cheeks were drenched in tears. Mamma handed her a clean hankie she'd tucked away in her black pouch. She used another to dab away the trickling tears emerging on her own face and wiped the sniffles from her nose. A hint of lavender hovered in the air, Aunt Rebecca emitting the scent.
 

When we arrived home, Aunt Rebecca spoke non-stop with Mamma and Papa around the table.

"You must give me the recipe, Anna," she said, reaching for one more roll. These are so tasty." They sipped hot tea and munched on fresh cinnamon rolls.

"Oh, 'tis nothing to it, Becky. All you do is...." Mamma took pride in her God-given abilities to create something wonderful out of next to nothing.

"You'll have to write the recipe down. I'll not remember. We'll wait until the children are asleep."

The 'good old days', tonight's feature topic, spread happiness on Mamma’s face making her forget what Aunt Rebecca might suppose. They enjoyed a splendid time chattering and giggling like the family of gray squirrels romping in the back yard.

Aunt Rebecca brought along some black licorice. My brothers secluded themselves in the corner and stuck their tongues out at one another to see whose tongue came out the blackest. What a time they had with this silly game Edward invented.

"Would you mind, Anna, if Lucy accompanied me to the city square tomorrow for an adventure?"

"Oh please, Mamma," I begged. "I promise to mind my manners and hold my tongue. Please, please Mamma."

I knew Mamma wouldn't disappoint Aunt Rebecca, but I thought it wouldn't hurt if I added a plea or two. Mamma had a kind, tender way about her, but it was Papa whom we had to persuade. I knew he wouldn't give her a moment's peace until I arrived home safely.

The trip, planned for the following day after school, became etched in stone. All this excitement was too much for me though. I had trouble falling asleep. My mind whirled about, until it was finally overcome by sleepy cobwebs.

The following day, as twilight approached, Aunt Rebecca and I walked hand in hand to the sleigh-hitch. Brushing against cedar branches released an aromatic fragrance. Boots crunched and plodded over snow packed paths and drifts. Evergreen branches drooped peacefully while being cloaked by fresh falling snow.

We talked about anything and everything. We had a lifetime of catching up to do and we didn't have much time to ourselves. The one thing we didn't discuss was Papa. I wished I could've been free to tell on Papa and how he hurt Mamma, but Mamma warned me.

At times, we drifted apart when a tree blocked our path. Without my notice, Aunt Rebecca formed a snowball and hurled it at me. Striking me in the neck, cold chunks trickled down my back.

"Oooh! That's cold," I said, trying to wiggle free from them. The snowball fight was on. I threw one back at her. She dodged. Shucks! I missed, I thought. She flung one back at me. We ran to and fro amongst the trees, throwing, dodging and getting smacked by the crusty balls. I laughed so hard, I nearly wet myself.

The rickety, wooden bench at the end of our lane was a welcome sight after all the cavorting. There, we watched an old, hunch-back woman clutching a wooden stave in her bare hand. She snuggled in a brown, woolen cloak with an enormous hood attached. It sheltered her tangled, gray head. Even with the covering, she trembled and appeared as if she had slept underground since infancy. She sat on a small barrel in front of the general store, a basket at her feet, and a sign draped about her neck. Give to the poor, it read. Some generous souls tossed in coins. Aunt Rebecca threw in some of the pennies that jingled in her pocket.

Suddenly, two young rascals, about seven or eight years of age played a dreadful hoax on an elderly gentleman when he accidentally dropped his pocket-watch into the snow drift. As quick as a wink, the watch was recovered by the two boys who then scattered in different directions. There wasn't anything we could do.

We sat watching people running in and out of the Post Office. They toted handfuls of Christmas cards and clung to securely wrapped parcels and packages, darting home to inspect the contents.

Soon, the sound of horses' hoofs clacking on the cobblestone roadway tickled my ears. The team trotted around the bend and approached in a mild gait. The driver hollered, "Whoa!" Leaning back in his seat, pulling heavily on the reins, he again shouted another, "Whoa!" The footman slid down.

"Greetings," he said, while escorting we passengers to padded seats on the black lustrous sleigh. The snap of the driver's whip and a loud, "He-ah," set the sleigh to brisk motion. Well-groomed horses raced along the snowy, winding trail as if a ghost pursued them.

Despite the hour, darkness began to settle. Full grown snowflakes fell to the ground, slapping us in the face. When we arrived at Yonge Street, I could hardly believe my eyes. Shop windows glistened with the spirit of Christmas, lively and intoxicating. I could barely contain myself.

"Look darling," Aunt Rebecca said, once we stepped from the sleigh. She pointed to a window. "Isn't she the finest doll you ever saw?"

"It is Auntie, the finest doll ever." My mind fantasized. If ever it were possible that I could own such a treasure. Yes, I would take care of it. And—and I wouldn't allow my brothers to touch it.

Just look at yourself, you foolish child, I thought. Boots all shabby and worn and this tattered woolen coat flinching every time you put it on. Why, who do you think you are? The likes of you ought not to even be here.

My spirits crushed. Aunt Rebecca touched my shoulder then and said, "You're it." The absurd fancy ended. I chased her from the store window, down the street and into old man 'Higgins Shoe Shop.' The potent smell of shoe leather and polish stopped us in our tracks.

We browsed in many shops that memorable evening and later carried home red and white striped candy canes to fasten to the Christmas tree. Aunt Rebecca purchased a can of popcorn already popped and ready to eat or string together to decorate the evergreen branches.

Soon, it was time for Aunt Rebecca to leave us and continue on her way to New Brunswick to attend school. She planned to become a teacher and specialize in literature and art. She composed a simple rhyme in a brief moment especially for me.

'Tis the time to be happy, 'Tis not the time to be sad, Hold on to your dreams my child, Hold on and cling to the glad.

It took a few days to rid ourselves of our feelings of abandonment when Aunt Rebecca left. She induced such hope into our lives that we could never have dreamed possible. It was back to the plain life we were so accustomed to and it was heart wrenching.